Starting has always been tough. They don’t tell you that when you buy a camera. Or the new lens you get so excited to use. “This,” we think, “is going to change everything!” Except it doesn’t. At least not yet, because you’re (to misquote Julia Roberts in Notting Hill) still just a girl standing in front of a boy asking him to love her. Except you’re just a photographer standing in front of a scene asking…”where the heck do I begin?”
It can be hard because seeing is complicated. That scene you think is meant to be an epic landscape might not work as a single image, maybe the light’s not right, perhaps it’s something else. But when you explore it, it might become more about a series of small details. If you know to look for them. Or it might be about an interesting contrast, if you remember that contrasts are something we find interesting. It could be behind you in an interesting colour palette. You have to see it before you can make a photograph of it.
The problem—among many that make this craft such a delightful/maddening challenge—is our expectations. When we go into a scene with expectations about what the photograph is all about, what it’s going to look like, we are seeing what we hope for. What we want, not what is. Or we see some of what is there, but only that and not the many possibilities that might make a compelling photograph.
We need to learn to see possibilities not expectations. We need to learn to see what is and what could be, not what we wish it were. And we need to learn to see not only what’s nice to look at but what makes an interesting photograph.
Years ago I was in Monument Valley. The picture that accompanies this article (below) is from that visit. I had dreamed of being there for so many years and now that I was there I had no idea where to begin. That incredible place to which I brought so many expectations was just overwhelming, and time was short, adding pressure upon pressure.
So I started by going for a walk. I was focused on one feature, the one they call the West Mitten, and the sun was setting faster than I would have liked. I framed a few shots, ultra wide, but I was floundering. Everything I put in my viewfinder felt forced. It’s like I was seduced by the subject, expecting the picture would just be amazing because the subject itself was amazing. An easy mistake. Wildlife photographers do it all the time: it’s a beautiful animal so the picture’s going to be beautiful, right? Well no. I’ve made a lot of uninteresting pictures of interesting subjects because the thing that makes them interesting doesn’t necessarily translate well to a photograph.
What got me started, after all the false starts, was some version of the question that always gets me started: what do I have to work with?
Now don’t get ahead of me. If you sat up and thought, “a rock! You’ve got a rock! And a tree!” then you’re partly right. But only partly. We don’t find an image like this interesting because it’s a rock and a bush. I could have made this at high noon from the same location, and it would be less interesting.
“Oh, wait, it’s the light!” Again, yes and no. I could have made this image in the same light that evening but facing something else, perhaps excluding the tree that gives the image the depth it does, as well as introducing the contrast.
“Is it the colour contrast? I heard combinations like the orange rock and the cyan blue sky are good. Is that what makes it?” Well, yes, we’re getting closer. It’s all of these things, and a few more and almost never do we walk up to a scene and see the possibilities more clearly than we see our expectations.
We almost never see those possibilities all at once. They tend to reveal themselves slowly, and not as subject matter, but as elements in a photograph. We don’t go out looking for a rock and a tree. We go out looking for things that make an interesting photograph. We go out looking for something that makes that voice in our head whisper, “Hey, look at that!” It might be a rock and a tree, but I’m willing to bet it’s something specific about the rock, and the tree, from a certain angle, in a certain kind of light, with a certain composition, and these things rarely show themselves to us all at once.
Finding that combination of interesting elements is a process and it can be messy. Getting past my expectations and seeing the possibilities is often full of false starts.
You don’t have to start perfect, you’ve got to start. Period. If you wait until you’ve got a scene all figured out, or worse, until that scene presents itself whole, as a picture that needs no further exploration, no tweaking, then you’ll never make an image. Or worse, you risk never making a photograph that goes beyond the obvious.
Sometimes the start feels obvious. The “Hey, look at that!” is loud in your head. And you make a couple sketch images, and then…what next? The obvious always makes me nervous because it’s too tempting just to stop there, without digging a little deeper, without exploring all the possibilities.
The obvious can tempt us to stop too soon in our search for a fuller answer to that question, “what do I have to work with?”
I want to go deeper on this subject, and I’ve got another article in mind to follow this thread because I think it’s some of the most important thinking we do as photographers. For now I want to leave you with 3 ideas that will make it easier to start, no matter the scene or the subject, to see the possibilities.
- Don’t be seduced by your subject
No question about it, there’s something there, but what makes you think “hey, look at that!” might not be the same thing that makes an interesting photograph. Don’t think rock and tree, think line and shape. Think colour. Think contrast. There are more, but remember that in the world of the photograph there is no rock. No tree. Only line and shape and if you don’t make strong choices they one former won’t translate into the other. - Be Self Aware, Not Just Subject Aware
When you look at that scene, and you think “Oh, look! A rock! A tree! A leopard!” Take a moment to take inventory. What about that rock, tree, or leopard? What has your attention, what quickens your pulse? Is it just that the subject exists? It might be. But I suspect it’s something more. Find that. Is it the light on the rock, the colour contrast that creates with the sky? Is it the texture? Is it the power of the animal or the pattern of it’s fur? Be more specific about your “look at that” and you’ll find it easier to see more of the possibilities. - Don’t Stop too Soon
When I look back at my own best work the images that are most enduring are usually among the last in a sequence of efforts. This is one reason I edit backwards. I don’t look for my best work at the beginning of a series, but at the end, because by the end I’ve seen more possibilities, seen past the obvious and whatever expectations I brought into the process with me. Keep going. There are almost always more possibilities and each of them might add layers of impact to your photograph.
Starting is what’s important. Not starting perfectly or even with any real initial direction. Starting gets the ship moving and then you can gain momentum and steer it where you hope, but don’t feel the need to start in the “right” direction. Starting helps you discover that direction. Starting is what helps you notice things, to perceive. We don’t see all the possibilities in a subject or scene then start, we start and only then begin to see all the possibilities more clearly.
For the Love of the Photograph,
David
Comments
I haven’t picked up my camera in several years and have been struggling with the idea of selling or donating all of my gear. I love to travel but health issues have made that something I can’t do. After reading this I realize I just need to get back outside with my camera and see what is around me. Keep at it and enjoy the process. Thank you!
As usual you put into words concepts that are a little slippery to capture. I do find a huge difference between the commercial work I used to do (semi-retired, or is it just a change of subject matter and lifestyle ?) and anything I might now shoot. Expectation is a huge part of it, and just start is the most important. The technical is comparatively easy to teach, the art in seeing I believe can only be enhanced not taught, but you sure enhance well !
David, I had stopped photographing after a difficult loss, thinking what’s it all for anyway. Now I know what it’s for, but starting again hasn’t happened. I had set expectations without realising it. They were too difficult. Your article has come at the right time. I will just start and find my ‘seeing’ again along the way.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Margaret. Sounds like it might be time to just pick up the camera and play. Do it just for you, maybe just to see what’s out there, get out of the house and find some nice light… My best to you.
I really like getting your periodic blogs. They are always chock full of great insights. But this last article really resonated with me! Thank you for being that voice of reason in my crazy creative journey.
Thank you for that, Jan. It’s an honour to write for such wonderful people. But voice of reason? I’m still looking for my own sanity! LOL. More like my own brand of crazy. We’re all in this together. Thank you for being part of it.
Excellent sunmary . “Start ugly” has become my mantra.
Thanks, Alex! Do you have a copy of that book (Start Ugly)?
Terrific article, David. You have managed to put into words what is so hard to teach, the “seeing” in photography. Thank you.
Thanks, Paul. You’re right, it is hard to teach (and to learn) – but that’s the journey, isn’t it? Lucky us to have found such a challenging/rewarding path.
As I was reading this, I thought of the middle of sophomore year in college. After the first dozen classes in the first three semesters, I did some resets, some questions emerged (but weren’t answered at the time), and I took a step – sideways, not back. My four years which followed in the navy didn’t have many answers, but it introduced me to travel, foreign cultures, people, and photography which tied it all together. I learned the tools to use, and how to get myself in gear to find and tell the story. And that’s pretty much worked for the last 50 years. So your advice is spot on. Thanks.
Tim
Thanks, Tim. Sounds like you found a path that was really rewarding. Amzaing how fast 50 years goes though, isn’t it?
Just as I was about to sell all my cameras (except one), only shoot analog for the rest of my life, toss all the presets, and “projects,” out the window, your article appeared, and once again, you help us clear the path to a more enjoyable, less stressful pursuit of photography. Thank you,
Amazing how many of us feel some kind of stress/pressure/expectation from the thing that should be calming that. I suspect it’s because it’s so important to us. But we sure would enjoy this all so much more if we relaxed about it, eh? Hang in there Patricia, don’t sell the gear. Your mojo is still out there!
Good Easter/Spring Morning David
I just finished reading your recent email about expectations and possibilities. Just what I needed today. For my photographs and for my life. Thank you.
Page
Thank you for that, Page. Happy Easter to you too.
Thanks for the reminder. That first step can be so difficult to take, no matter how long I’ve been doing this. When I’m really stuck, I remind myself of Ray Bradbury’s advice to jump and build your wings on the way down.
Well if its good enough for Ray Bradbury, it’s good enough for me! Thanks for the quote. By the way, I took a spin through your work, Glancing too quickly at your homage to artists I thought “hey, that looks like a Rothko painting!” only to see that that was exactly the point. Nailed it. What a great idea. Do Van Gogh next. 🙂